


Sanctuary

by Kendall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Human Derek Hale, Human Scott McCall, M/M, Scott is a bit ooc at first but he has been through a lot so its understandable, social worker Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendall/pseuds/Kendall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is a crazy thing. There's never enough of it when you're having fun, there's always too much of it when you're bored or hurt. It's never on your side, it won't let you turn it back, and God forbid it'll ever let you have good moments within the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Challenge Accepted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelwithwingsoffire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwithwingsoffire/gifts).



> I don't own Teen Wolf.

Time is a crazy thing. There's never enough of it when you're having fun, there's always too much of it when you're bored or hurt. It's never on your side, it won't let you turn it back.

Despite this, however, nothing can heal a wound quite like time can. I mean - I don't like to remember my life after my mom died when I was thirteen. I certainly don't like to remember all the things that I could have done differently, or the things I should have done differently, because - well, I can't change the past, can I? It's definitely not easy to relive it, but it's not easy to keep everything bottled up inside, either.

*****

“Scott, this is the sixth family you’ve gone through in four years,” Derek sighed. His voice held that same disappointed tone it always had after I was booted from a home. Derek had been my social worker ever since I was put in the system. A good guy, but way too determined to help me.

You can’t fix something that is broken.

“They were assholes!” I replied. My sixth family had been the Davidsons' - the dad was a minister, his wife a homemaker. They had a five-year old daughter, who was as obnoxious as only a five-year old can be. They were an all-American family, and I didn’t fit in - in fact, the family almost had a heart attack when they first saw me. My arm band tattoo on my left arm, my snakebites and the blue highlights in my hair didn’t really fit in with the image they tried to portray to the community, but for some reason they took me in anyway; I assume, to try and fix me.

“Please watch your language, Scott,” Derek sniffed. “Maybe this new family will be better,” he added, with a small smile.

I laughed. “Really, Derek? After six families, don’t you think it’s time to give up?” Foster care was never easy. I didn't like foster care - I didn't like change, and so I struggled to become accepted in any home I entered. It was hard for a thirteen year old to be placed in a permanent home - most people only want babies.

The first foster home I went to, I couldn't get along with their sixteen year old son, who felt like I was taking his place, who hated me - who beat me up. The second foster home I went to was downright awful; the husband hated all children, the wife merely needed me for the money the government gave her for having me. The third family wasn't too bad, but I ran away from their house because I couldn't take all the rules. After that, they refused to take me back.

By the fourth family, I was tired of being moved. I was fourteen, I was exhausted, and I was done with this foster family bullshit. In a sense, I had turned hard as stone - I had walls, I let no one in, and I couldn't even imagine settling in comfortably with a family.

“Scott. Like it or not, I’m never going to give up on you,” Derek said.

“Why not?” I groaned. This guy really was too much sometimes.

“Because you’re a good kid, Scott,” he replied, and I rolled my eyes in response.

“I’m a lost cause, Derek.”

“No one is a lost cause,” Derek said. “Your new family is going to be the Stilinski’s. They run the wolf sanctuary in town.”

“You’re shitting me.” Did Derek really expect me to live with people who took care of wolves?

“Language,” Derek sighed. “No Scott I am not shitting you. They’re a great family. And - they have experience with kids like you.”

“Kids like me?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Troubled teens,” Derek answered.

“Oh, so now I’m 'troubled'?”

“Scott, don’t,” Derek moaned. “They’re going to love you and take care of you.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

And that’s how at seventeen, I learned that the seventh family I was going to was, "a great family," like all the others, and had, "experience with troubled teens," like all the others, was "going to love you" like all the others (hadn't), and was, "going to take care of you" like all the others (hadn't). This seventh family was that of the Stilinski’s - the father was the sheriff and a man I had run into more than once. There was also another kid in the home, the sheriff’s son Stiles - and supposedly between them, they had never, never, failed to improve a foster child's life.

Challenge accepted.


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the dirty white van struggled its way up the steep gravel road towards - well, God alone knows where, I slumped back down into my seat with a low moan, tired already of watching The Incredible Tree Show with Bark and Birch. I immediately stole a glance Derek's way; but he didn't seem to have heard my discomfort... that, or he was ignoring me. The latter option seemed to me to be the more likely; if there was one thing Derek was very good at doing, it was ignoring me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

As the dirty white van struggled its way up the steep gravel road towards - well, God alone knows where, I slumped back down into my seat with a low moan, tired already of watching The Incredible Tree Show with Bark and Birch. I immediately stole a glance Derek's way; but he didn't seem to have heard my discomfort... that, or he was ignoring me. The latter option seemed to me to be the more likely; if there was one thing Derek was very good at doing, it was ignoring me. 

"Are we there yet?" I groaned after a pause, my teeth rattling with the van. There was no way he couldn't have heard that; and the fact that he put his foot down when I said it was proof enough. The engine roared like a demented creature as we sped up the hill, the whole vehicle shook as though a storm was raging outside, and over the top of it all I yelled "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?", but Derek kept his eyes on the rough road and his mouth shut.

And to me, that was basically a second and a third instance of a 'no response'. In other words: three strikes. He was definitely ignoring me.

Oh, it's on.

I kept my mouth shut until we had crested the hill, just to make him think for a moment that I might have actually given up on this game, and then - just as we slowed to a near-halt at the top, the engine noise dying to a low purr, I struck: "Hey, Derek." 

I was half-expecting for him to go the way of many an exasperated social worker, to smack his forehead against the steering wheel. Instead, I got a mild-mannered look and a "Yes?" that almost made me hesitate with my reply. 

Emphasis on the almost.

"Are we there yet?"

"What do you think it looks like?" the social worker growled, gesturing to the just-barely-legal-condition road ahead of us, the empty woods on either side.

"A 'no'?"

"Correct. We, in fact, are not there yet." 

"Okay, so how about now?" I smirked, folding my arms and settling in my seat, and as we sped down the hill, in that moment before he replied with a gruff noise of disapproval, I caught the hint of a smile.   
"Come on", I pressed him. "We've got to be at the damned place soon, right?"

"Language", he replied absentmindedly, and I snorted. 

"Like anyone's gonna care. It's just you, me, and this goddamned roa-" 

And just like that, I was cut off - though not by the big grey dog running across the road, not Derek's loud swear and his move to sharply turn away from the creature and simultaneously avoid the trees, not even the screech of tires as we slid across the gravel, faster and faster, the dark smoke from the burnt rubber hanging in the air. No, I kept right on babbling through the incident, only stopping when I realized that we were - somehow - okay, and we'd - somehow - made that final turn around the corner, and we were... somehow... in front of a house. A little wooden thing - almost a cottage, certainly small enough, though it didn't look anywhere near as cosy as those were supposed to be. There was no thatched roof on this wooden monstrosity, just a series of crooked roof tiles, some cracked and crumbling.

And there was, in fact, a very cross looking teenager standing in the driveway, his nose wrinkling as the smell of burnt rubber presumably reached him. 

Oh, that's right. The Sheriff had a son, didn't he?

"We sure made a fantastic impression, didn't we?" I mumbled, and Derek shrugged, saying something in reply - though for the better or the worse, his response was inaudible over the slam of the van's driver-side door. With a sigh, I got out of the vehicle, took my suitcase from the back seat, and strolled after him, watching the kid carefully for the tell-tale signs of a spoiled brat. Not that I really needed to look - this guy wasn't exactly trying to hide his nature or pretend to be nice, after all. He looked like he was only my age, and his clothes were nothing spectacular - a long-sleeved flannelette shirt, tattered jeans - and yet, he was standing in the driveway as though he absolutely owned the place. I was a little shorter than him, Derek a little taller, but there was no doubt that this guy was the leader; the dominant one, who simply waited for us to come to him, arms folded and head tilted a little to one side as he watched the two of us. As Derek reached him, and drew breath in order to give him a lecture that had likely been brewing ever since he stepped out of the van (presumably on the subject of dogs being allowed loose on the property), the kid reached into his pocket, pulled out a half-wrapped chocolate bar, and spoke between bites:

"S'a wolf. Not a dog. We don't keep dogs here." I'd have been surprised at that, if Derek hadn't been so easy to read, if the kid hadn't likely seen our little entrance. He glanced over at me, then looked up to stare Derek right in the eye. "Wolves are wolves - they kind of do what they want to. But hey, if you've got a death wish and all, you can go right ahead and tell that one off. And, I mean - I guess you've already got one, since you work with delinquents like him." One finger jabbed my way with this comment, and I raised an eyebrow; but before I could reply, Derek had taken a step forwards, his smile stiff and fake. 

"You must be Stiles." There was no question in that; for there was no way this young guy prancing around as though he owned the show could be anyone else, not unless the other foster kids the sheriff had supposedly done well with had gone and staged a revolution. There was thus no reason to reply, but the kid decided to do it anyway.

"Sure am", he drawled, taking another bite of his chocolate bar. The caretaker glanced over at me - the usual glance he threw me whenever we encountered the children of some foster home or other. I shook my head slightly, just as I always did, and he sighed.

"I... see."

Stiles shrugged, and then waved the remnants of chocolate bar and wrapper in my general direction.   
"So, who's the delinquent?"

"This is-"

"I'm Scott", I said quickly, not wanting to look scared of this spoiled brat. "And I'm not a delinquent, either."

One eyebrow quirked at that, and Stiles stopped eating to gaze at me over the chocolate bar, before he very slowly took a final bite, and turned his back on us both, cramming the foil into his pocket. "You coming, delinquent?"

I looked at Derek for advice. It was instinct more than anything else - in all the years I had spent with him, Derek had always known what to do, and there was some comfort in that - more still when he decided to walk alongside me, as the two of us followed the sheriff's son up the driveway. "We're coming, Stiles!" he called after the teenager, and it was a small triumph to see the kid do a double take halfway up, that glance over his shoulder that quickly went into a wide-eyed stare, Stiles stopping dead in his tracks. He looked at the two of us for a moment, indecisive for a second as to whether or not he should let us both march up his driveway - but then the door opened behind him, and the sheriff's son slunk away, disappearing inside the little house within seconds. I decided to flip him off as he retreated, only to receive a poisonous look from Derek - and a confused look from the man who had opened the door.

"Ah, Derek... Scott." 

Derek nodded, speaking before I could attempt to explain to this guy that his son was a complete and utter jerk. "Yes, this is Scott. You must be John?" He held out his hand, all faux smile and please don't bring up the fact that your foster child flipped someone off within two seconds of your sighting him, please please please-

The sheriff frowned at me; I shrugged, put both hands behind my back, but that wasn't enough to keep the guy from speaking his mind. "Quite the character we have here, huh?" he said, and with his words went any chance of my attempting to play my first minute with these guys at all nice. I bristled; I was not someone who was going to be talked down to, and this 'John' person was going to utterly regret his words!

"It's not my fault that your son just happens to be a-"

"Language!" Derek snapped, then inclined his head to the sheriff, trying to keep his voice level "Well, I'll leave him to you. Scott's been through a lot of foster homes - call us if ever he gets to be too much, okay?" This was a line I'd heard a dozen times from him, from every other foster worker, and I guess John must have heard it a lot as well; standard procedure is standard, after all. He laughed at the comment, shook his head, as he'd probably done a thousand times before. 

"No, no - I'm sure I won't have to call. We do have a good reputation for a reason." Another line I'd heard from just about every family with a good reputation ever, and Derek's response was yet another clichéd line. As they talked forms and formalities, I folded my arms and waited until it was over, until the door had slammed shut behind me and Derek's van was roaring away down the road. John led me down the corridor and into a small room with just one window, which was apparently a kitchen, going off the small stove and fridge crammed into one corner, the table jammed into another. I sat on a wooden stool at the end of the table, folded my arms, and sighed.

"So - now for the guided tour, I suppose? Do I get to look at every damned tree in the woods?" 

John glanced out the window, as though that might tell him something. "No - it's too close to night time. I might be in charge of a whole wolf sanctuary, but I'm not going out there in the dark - and neither are you."

"What about Stiles? Does he get full run of the place? Bet he does."

The sheriff raised an eyebrow at that. "No, he doesn't. You'd have to be pretty stupid to go running around with wolves at night, and Stiles isn't a moron."

"Sure looks like one."

Oh, yes, well done Scott. Twenty-seven seconds into the awkward kitchen welcome, and you've already managed to insult the foster parent's douchey son! That's got to be a personal best!

I could hear the Sheriff's teeth grind from across the counter-top, before he eventually answered: "I know what you're trying to do. It won't work."

"Won't it?" I stood lazily, leaning both elbows on the bench as I yawned. "C'mon. Where's my room, anyway?"

\------------------

"You're not letting him sleep there!" 

Stiles, of course. The smart-mouth might have been out in the kitchen with his father, but it wasn't a big house by any stretch of the imagination, and the guy was yelling. Lying on my bed, flat on my stomach with my chin in my hands, I didn't exactly have a lot to do, and so I had decided to listen to the argument. It'd started just a few minutes before, Stiles looking into my room for a moment, before going into the kitchen and exchanging quiet words. Now, at last, the teenager's short temper had frayed, and he was shouting, his father yelling right back - and I was listening. 

"Why not? It's not like he's in your room!"

"He's a delinquent, Dad! Do you want me to get knifed in my sleep?!?" Stile's voice was already hoarse with the effort of yelling, and I snorted, rolling onto my back putting my hands behind my head, a smile on my face. He actually thought I was dangerous, the idiot. Perhaps I could use that, try and scare him into showing me a little respect. 

"Stiles! We're not having this argument, do you hear me?!? He's-"

"Did you see the way they arrived, Dad?!? His social worker's a maniac!"

"That doesn't mean that the kid's a-"

I rolled off the bed, and strolled straight into the kitchen with a huge yawn. "Wow, Sheriff. That bed's not comfortable at all. Tell you what." I walked over to the moth-eaten couch with the exposed springs, and flopped down on it. "I'll sleep right here."

"You're okay with that?" John asked, wincing at the creak the thing made when I threw my weight down into it; he looked guilty, just as I'd hoped. Stiles, however, snorted and turned away, storming into his room and slamming the door. It was going to take something bigger than that to make the kid feel bad about lording it over me. And so, as the sheriff tried very hard to grill a couple of steaks and not look at the delinquent who'd crashed on his couch, I eyed up the closed door. Stiles was surprisingly quiet in there; none of the hissy fits I'd have expected from a kid who seriously thought he was in charge around here. Perhaps he was planning some other way to make me a dividing force between him and his father, perhaps not.

Either way, challenge accepted.


	3. Bump In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sat bolt-upright and stared at the door, but the noise had stopped…just long enough for me to start to relax. Okay, it was a early hour of the morning. Maybe I had just been hearing things. Besides, wolves were wild animals, weren’t they? I doubted that they’d just come wandering up to the door like dogs and—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Teen Wolf.

I had just barely managed to get to sleep on that ratty couch that night when the howling started.

At first, I was just pissed off that the stupid mutts had decided to start that at some early hour of the morning. What did they think they were doing? Yeah, it was a wolf sanctuary and wolves just did that, I understood that perfectly fine, but it didn’t make my sleep being interrupted any better, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to make me getting back to sleep any easier. I just huffed quietly to myself and cursed under my breath, shifting around in an attempt to get comfortable and failing miserably at it on this uncomfortable goddamn couch. I was really gonna hate this place, wasn’t I? More than I thought, anyway. I already hated it enough as it was—

Wait. Scratching. Why was I hearing scratching?!

I sat bolt-upright and stared at the door, but the noise had stopped…just long enough for me to start to relax. Okay, it was a early hour of the morning. Maybe I had just been hearing things. Besides, wolves were wild animals, weren’t they? I doubted that they’d just come wandering up to the door like dogs and—

Dammit, there it was again!

All I could do was stare at the door, now, as the scratching of claws on wood intensified to the point of making the door vibrate, my heart starting to race wildly when I heard frustrated growling. Shit shit shit, was it rabid? Why was it trying to get in?! Was it the one earlier that my idiot social worker had nearly hit?! But why the hell would it be after me? I hadn’t done anything to the stupid animal except happen to be around while Derek was doing something crazy! I tried to convince myself that it was just a dumb animal and that I’d be totally fine even if it did get in, but that thought did nothing but freak me out more, as much as I completely fucking hated it at the same time. I was no pansy and I had lived through way worse! I could deal with this, it was just one wolf…

…Then it stopped. It went so dead silent all I could hear was my own breathing and a couple of tiny creaks of the old-ass house settling. Okay…maybe I was lucky. Or maybe the stupid thing had realized that it wasn’t getting in. Either way, I’d work with that. I started to settle back on the couch again, more exhausted than ever, starting to close my eyes. But something still felt off, even though I was pretty sure that it was just my imagination playing tricks on me again. But why did it feel like I was being watched?

…Wait. Was I?

I opened my eyes, only to see a pair of glowing yellow ones staring right at me from outside, way too high up and way too smart to just be some stupid dog’s. ”Shit!” It was one of the few times I had ever not cared about genuinely being freaked the hell out, and though I frantically tried to back off from the window as quickly as possible, I only succeeded in getting my shirt caught on one of the exposed couch springs, earning another sharp curse out of me. I had to get away, I had to get away, it was starting to howl oh god—!

”Hey!” The Sheriff had to have heard the racket, and for the first time since I had been here (and totally despite myself), I was just slightly grateful that someone was here with a gun to chase that goddamn thing away. And it worked, dammit, it totally worked—at the sight of the bastard, the thing in the window just snorted and abruptly turned to run back into the fucking woods it bolted out of. For just a moment, I felt elated…I was safe; fuck, if I had had one of those, or even a knife or something weapon-y enough, it probably would have turned and run like a coward, and a scared coward! It hadn’t been willing to fight…it was just some stupid wolf being an asshole and getting into shit it didn’t understand.

That wasn’t some goddamn wolf-man monster looming in the window. I had just…been sleepy and my imagination had gone insane for a minute. That was all.

"Kid?" Judging by that tone of voice, John had to have been trying to get my attention for a bit, and I finally dignified it with a response…though all I did was flop back on the couch with an annoyed sigh, taking some vindictive pleasure in how the old man winced at the sharp, ear-piercing creak.

"I’m fine. Just some stupid dog being a dick.”

"You’re sure?"

Okay, now this was getting on my damn nerves. “Oh stop it—I’m perfectly, totally okay? It just startled me, and I could’ve scared it off by myself if you didn’t stick your nose in it.”

Not that old man Sheriff seemed to like that answer one bit, judging by how he drew himself up. “These aren’t dogs; they’re wolves. Wild animals, even if these are some real smart ones. Do not try to do anything stupid around them or to them, and you’ll be all right. Just come get me if you see ‘em around again.”

And call me fucking nuts, but something about the way he talked about them was…weird, though, and it made me pause. It almost sounded like he wasn’t even quite believing what he was saying, like there was something really weird about these things that he didn’t wanna tell me. All I could think about for a moment was the recent memory of those eyes, and how they had looked so damn un-wolf-like that it had scared the hell out of me. And now I wondered…what were they trying to hide here?

Or…maybe I was just slowly going paranoid out here already, stuck in a shack in the middle of the wolf-infested woods with a cop and a spoiled brat. Could be either, even if I didn’t like the idea.

"Fine." My response was short and to the point, and I thought it was dismissive enough, but I heard John sigh and turned my head to send him a bit of a look. "What?"

"Nothing." 

Okay, I knew it wasn’t just “nothing” by now, with all my experience at previous homes…but I just ignored it, rolling over in a way that was definitely final, even ignoring the old man’s “goodnight”. But even as he finally went away, I heard another set of footsteps coming down and— Oh, fuck everything, that was the brat, wasn’t it?

"Who’s afraid of the big bad wolves?"

That mocking, smug little tone of voice honestly made me want to punch Stiles in the face…but I held back, not even turning to face him. Go me. “Says the tough guy hiding up in his room like a scared little kid the whole time.”

But he just ignored me, and I could practically hear his douchey smirk. “You know, there’s a legend that says some of them are bloodthirsty werewolves; maybe they smelled fresh meat and wanted to come see.”

Okay, now I was just rolling my eyes, and I flipped him off without even looking. “What do you think I am, three years old? Fuck off.” He laughed one of those stupid little laughs and finally left to go back to bed, and after untangling that spring from my shirt, I settled down to sleep again…

But even though I believed legends of werewolves as much as I believed in fucking Santa (read: not at all), I couldn’t help but remember how that thing in the window had looked at me.

I didn’t sleep much for the rest of the night.


	4. Meeting The Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I’ve decided, since there seems to be some things to iron out and since I have work to do, that Stiles is going to be the one to lead you through all the different territories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf. So not to happy with this chapter, but it is what it is.

I spent the first few hours of the next morning trying to find something to eat in this dingy old shack before John stumbled in on me, sitting at the kitchen table hunched over a bowl of cereal. Pretty sure the glare I gave him made him stop for a moment, but he didn’t say anything to me about the potential bags under my eyes, so I guess it wasn’t a concern for him.

“So you’re feeling okay now, kid?”

I took another bite, lazily looking anywhere but at him to see if he would react. From everything I could see, he was unfazed by it and waited patiently for a response while I swallowed.

“I told you, I’m okay – I’ve had worse.”

Meeting his eyes was interesting. He looked like he did last night for just a moment before his face shifted, giving me a semi-friendly smile as he kept speaking.

“That’s good to hear. If you’d like, the other room is still open-“

“Not interested enough to care,” I cut him off.

I still wasn’t bothered enough by the discomfort in his eyes to take him up on his offer - even if my back hurt like hell from the springs in the old couch. He just responded with a small nod, clearing his throat and changing the subject.

“Anyways, I was thinking that you should probably get a look around the Sanctuary. Just to acquaint you with what’s here.”

Really? He really thought I'd want to go wandering around in the forest? Did he actually take my sarcasm yesterday seriously?

He kept talking, glancing back as Stiles' opened the door and nodding to his father, but not sparing a moment to scowl at me like the fucker that he was.

“And I’ve decided, since there seems to be some things to iron out and since I have work to do, that Stiles is going to be the one to lead you through all the different territories.”

Oh fuck no. We looked at each other for a moment, and had I not been feeling bile rise in my throat at the thought, I would have laughed at how quickly we both protested that idea.

“I’m not going out into the woods with a delinquent, Dad! He just got here, I don’t trust-“

“Excuse you? You don’t trust me? Maybe if you grew a spine I wouldn’t feel like that was just a little bit of a good idea-“

John turned around quickly, silencing his son with a look that I really wish I could have seen, since Stiles shut up immediately and turned his head down in defeat. He turned halfway to each of us, his voice just like all the other foster parents who had ‘had it up to here’ with someone’s (usually my own) behavior.

“I’d like for this house to be a place where people can live without fear of two angry teenagers running about and constantly bickering, so I think that this will be a good experience for you. For both of you.”

He was still using the no-nonsense voice, and I didn’t hate him or myself enough to try and challenge him directly. Half an hour later, I ended up following Stiles down the driveway, passive-aggressively ignoring him by focusing on interesting rocks instead of really listening to his grumbling about how ‘dangerous’ I was and how much could go wrong.

The weather was such that both of us were wearing jeans. I was surprised that his looked somehow more worn than the foster home jeans I’d been given, but I suppose after being out in the boondocks, it could happen to anyone. Stiles was wearing a plaid shirt, and I was fighting back an urge to make a jab at him being a sad excuse for a lumberjack. In the shade, my shirt was doing well, but whenever there weren’t enough trees to provide shade (which wasn’t very often) it felt like my back was on fire. As we walked, I could see a few larger clearings dotting the sanctuary in the distance.

“I’ll take you out to the farthest pack first, so we can make our way back.”

Stiles sounded like he was holding a stick between his teeth, and I snorted.

“How do you plan on getting us there then?”

His shoulders clenched, and I smirked.

“We have four-wheelers. You’ll follow me out to the Ash pack first, then the Creek, Rose, and Dunbar.”

I let out a noncommittal sound (boy it was fun to watch the little jerk flinch.)

“You sure you want to trust me with a vehicle? The ‘delinquent’?”

“No, but I don’t want you riding behind me like some sort of sissy more.”

Well of course he’d have a comeback for that, why didn’t I think so? It took me a while to respond, and I decided to simply let it go – something about trying to ‘get along’ with him echoed in my head.

“Alright, lead the way, Captain.”

The Ash pack proved to be about 30 minutes away, counting the time it took to get the damned four-wheelers started and running. It wasn’t too hard to figure out, but trying to drive it when Stiles tore off ahead of me was a bit frustrating at first. As much as I hated to say it, the Sanctuary was actually kind of nice. There’s something visceral about riding through a large unpopulated area of land, that gets the blood running, I guess. The trees towered over our heads at times, and the grass smelled good in the sun. I wouldn’t tell either John or Stiles this, but… I guess I liked it out there after all the foster homes. At the very least, just being there didn’t feel like a home at all.

Stiles stopped first, when we neared a large clearing, and pointed out to the middle.

“There’s the Ash pack – glad that they decided to come out.” Half of his mouth rose in a sneer. “Perhaps they heard about your little… encounter last night and decided to come out and say hello.”

He actually flinched at the glare I gave him then – still proud of that. I looked out at the pack for the pure sake that it was something I’d not really seen before, and, again, I’ll admit only to myself, that seeing wild wolves running through a field was pretty cool.

The Ash pack looked to be resting – a big bunch of lazy wolves laying around or sleeping with a few milling about and play-fighting. There was only a fence between them and us. And after a moment one of the adults laying down turned towards us, ears pricked and head tilted. It either heard us or smelled the burning gas in the wind and looked up to find the source. It was far away, but I felt like it registered who were before it laid its head back down, unconcerned.

We sat and watched them for a few moments before Stiles motioned for us to turn around and start heading back by route of the other packs. The Creek pack was next, and I have to hand it to wolves in general, they know how to enjoy a hot day in the sun just as much as humans do. The pack was, I assumed, named for the creek that ‘runs through their land,’ as Stiles said John would always explain. The wolves were yipping, barking, and jumping in the shallows, splashing at each other’s faces with their paws and cooling themselves off in the water. The biggest one, as Stiles pointed out, had a lane of black fur running down his back. He looked huge, but he was playing in the water like all the others.

The Rose pack actually hid from us when they heard us coming, so Stiles spent a good fifteen minutes running around looking in bushes for them before swearing like a sailor. I stayed on the four-wheeler, wondering if it was really a good idea to go after wolves on foot and yawning every few minutes. Although I didn’t really feel like starting a fight with him then, I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw just how many brambles he had in his jeans when he stumbled back to the ATVs. Stiles kicked at my leg as he went back to his four-wheeler, but I dodged and he ended up clanging his toes on the rim of my wheel. The yell he let out scared some birds out of the trees, and I laughed again as he swore some more and sped off on his vehicle.

When we could see the outline of the house’s clearing in the distance, Stiles stopped us for a while and turned back to me. He looked… off. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to go about it. I waited, feeling strange as he looked at me like that… that is, until he smirked.

“Alright Scott, you ready for the pack that decided to say hello last night?"

“If you really think it scared me, you’re going to have a fist in your face really soon.”

Again, he shut up and frowned – glad that he decided I wasn’t worth messing with.

“…Scott, just like…” He glanced back at me, and the look had returned to his eyes. “Be careful around these ones. They… live closer to us, so they know… more about how humans work, I think.”

How was I supposed to answer that?

We got off of the four-wheelers, then – I wanted to refuse, but I could tell by the smirk on his face that if I said anything, he’d call me something along the lines of a pansy and laugh. Couldn’t exactly have that, now could I?

We opened the gate and walked into the woods, finding a much smaller clearing than before with a cave going into a small rock outcropping. Inside, asleep from what I could see, was the Dunbar pack. Compared to the others we’d seen, this pack was much, much smaller – only three wolves and a fox were sleeping there. However, each one of them was at least as big as the alphas from the other packs, and there were a few that were much bigger than I would have guessed wolves usually grew to. Stiles stood tall as we watched them, and leaned in to speak quietly to me, keeping his eyes on them.

“These ones are all named – the closest is Kira, a fox, then Liam, Brett, and Malia on the farthest side.”

My eyes trailed across them, noticing that they all looked much more different than the other wolves – perhaps they weren’t related? Were they exiles from the other packs at one point or something like that?

“We think that Malia may be… part coyote, or something. She’s got a smaller frame to her than Liam and Brett’s, at least.”

As if the coyote heard her name, her eyes opened and she watched us warily. I felt a chill go up my back. Her eyes were bright, electric blue, unlike anything I’d ever seen on an animal before. Stiles seemed to sense the change in the air, and waved to the mutt. I was about to swear that he’d gone insane, when she lowered her head and closed her eyes again.

Apparently he was the fucking wolf-whisperer. Looking at him I’d have guessed that he’d be the one to run away, but he actually appeared to have some skills. I should have known, what with him probably living out here since he was born. But seeing him… wave to a wolf, it acting like it understood what he was doing, and responding by relaxing, was worth a few points in my book.

One of the other wolves – not sure which one, but he looked big and dark-furred in the shade – yawned, stretching and opening his eyes for a brief moment. The fangs were white – not yellowed and worn, like an animal’s - but white and sharp, as though he had been seeing a dentist on a regular basis. I felt my body clench when he looked at me, though. I knew those eyes, and I felt like I’d be able to recognize them until the end of my days, from the shock they gave me last night.

It was the same shade of gold as whatever was hanging over me then, staring. They looked exactly the same, and I couldn’t repress the shudder that danced along my spine at how they glinted.

We stood there for a while longer before Stiles decided that we could head back. I didn’t wait for him to start moving. I walked faster, putting him between me and the Dunbar pack.

They gave me the creeps, and I couldn’t say why if someone had asked me. I’d assume that it had something to do with… whatever happened last night, but… I don’t know. It just felt wrong around them, like they weren’t normal.

We rode back to the house after that. Stiles seemed to sense my current mood, since he didn’t seem very talkative at all and kept checking his phone when we hit slow parts of the path. I wasn’t bothered. The quiet was nice even if the air felt off now after seeing that last pack.

Damn, why was it affecting me this much? They were just animals – and yeah, one might have been looking at me last night before it got scared off, and those ones were huge, but really, they were just wild animals. Nothing more.

There was a car in the driveway of the house when we pulled back in, and Stiles nearly jumped off of the four-wheeler as soon as it was parked, jogging over to the house. Before I could even really wonder what had him in such a good mood, a girl about our age stepped out of the house, talking to John pleasantly. She had strawberry blond hair and looked like she belonged more with a herd of other girls around her, instead of out in the boondocks with lumberjack Stiles and his father - who was wearing literally the exact same shirt. She had heels on, for God’s sake, even on the rough pavement of the driveway, walking like it was something she did on a daily basis.

Stiles ran up to her, smiling like I’d never seen him do in my short, short stay here, and- oh my god, whoever that girl was must have been his girlfriend because he kissed her and she didn’t seem horrified. The most reaction that I could see from where I was standing was John ruffling his son’s hair when he pulled away. They all seemed to know each other well and get along. That thought made my shoulders bunch up. ‘Delinquent’ or not, I still was being left out by whoever it was that was taking care of me. They didn’t mean to – at least, I don’t think that John meant to, but it’s not exactly like he looked over at me when she was there.

I had to clear my throat for anyone to notice me.

“So, who’s this then? I assume that I should say hello?”

The girl jumped before she looked back at me – guess she hadn’t noticed I was there. She had the decency to attempt a smile and a nod to me, so I’ve got to give her that at least.

John seemed apologetic too, for not really saying hey or ‘good job on not killing my son’ or anything like that. “Glad you two could make it back. Scott, this is Lydia – Stiles’ girlfriend.”

I smiled at her, and had to choke back a snort at how quickly Stiles’ hackles raised. She seemed pretty okay at first, even if she did look like any stereotypical popular girl at any given school. When she noticed how Stiles reacted to seeing me, her eyebrows drew together.

“I’m sorry to ask, but… what’s your name? Are you…”

She didn’t seem to know what to say exactly, but I knew that she was trying to play me off as one of Stiles’ friends before anything else.

“I’m from the foster place. Scott, as John said just now.” It may have been curt, but I had to have her realize that Stiles and I weren’t exactly ‘best buds.’ It set the mood for the next few minutes. No one really knew what to say. John ended up being the one to break the silence as I walked back towards the house - ever the peace-keeper even for the short time I’d known him.

“Yeah. Scott got here yesterday, and he’s…” His voice dropped as I walked by, but I could still hear him. They always think they’re so secretive when they talk about me. “…he’s been through a lot of homes before. He went out with Stiles to see the pack today.” His voice rose again and he called out to me, interrupting me when I went to sit down on the couch. “Did you enjoy it out there?”

Certainly more than I was enjoying being talked about like I was some sort of attraction for these people. More than what I was feeling right then. It wasn't even her fault, and I knew that getting mad at Stiles was stupid, but I just… I’d never had that chance, or that drive, I guess. He looked smug about it in my eyes.

Those wolves were upsetting, but for whatever reason, I’d rather be facing them than deal with these people for however long they’ll say that they can stand me. At least with the wolves I’d know what I was up against as far as attitudes go.

…Hopefully something would happen soon to get me out of here. Overall, this was the strangest foster home I’d been to, and it had only been a single day.

“…Yeah, it was pretty nice.”


	5. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being passed from foster home to foster home I saw the same damn thing over and over again. The same words were spoken. I liked to avoid my 'family' whenever I could.

Being passed from foster home to foster home I saw the same damn thing over and over again. The same words were spoken. I liked to avoid my 'family' whenever I could.

Right now, that involved sitting and pretending to read a book. It was a self-help book of some kind. I would turn the pages every now and again, more for my own amusement than to fool anyone. The Sheriff, my 'father', wasn't fooled at all.

For half an hour now, he had been coming in and out of the living room. to check on me.

"You need to get out there," The Sheriff said kindly, "We have a lot of land for you to explore."

"Fuck off, I'm reading," I said, holding up the self-help book, "See? I'm becoming a better person."

I didn't look to see what he did next. I hoped that he shook his head, admitted that I was an annoying little asshole, and left me alone.

"You're keeping away from Stiles," he finally replied. I shrugged.

Stiles. The little asshole that would be my ‘brother’ for a little bit. I was deeply hoping that Stiles and his father would get rid of me soon. I couldn't wait. All I had to do was be rude and then I would be home free. To wherever home would be next.

"Okay, so what if I am?" I said. "Do you expect me to be friends with someone who calls me a delinquent?"

"You're going to be here for a little bit so you might as well."

"You sure?"

"You think you're the worst thing I've had to deal with? Now at least get out of the house."

I took a deep, long sigh and walked out of the room, handing the book to the Sheriff.

"You breaking up with someone?"

"What?" I stopped walking.

"This is a self-help book for getting over heartache."

"Are you?" I asked and turned to see the Sheriff give me a stern look.

For one moment I was more afraid of him than the wolf before. I tried to read his face to see if he really was going through a breakup or if he was just annoyed at me. I quickly decided not to linger too long and go outside.

As I went outside, I cursed under my breath. I now had to deal with Stiles - the number one person I didn't ever want to see - all because some stupid family bonding bullshit was expected. A family that I would leave shortly I hoped. I couldn't stand being here any longer.

I finally found Stiles. He was talking to two people one of whom I recognized as Lydia.

"Can you believe it?" Stiles said as he shook his head, "Having to live wit-"

"A person who calls you a delinquent?" I interrupted, "Yeah, I can't believe it either."

Lydia was sitting next to Stiles looked at me. Lydia was a cute red-head and I didn't know why she was with such an asshole. She looked like she could be with anyone she wanted to.

"Hello Scott," she said with a strained grin.

"You don't have to be nice to him, Lydia." Stiles replied, "My Dad isn't watching now."

"Yeah, your Dad isn't watching." I said with a smile, "Which means if I beat you to a pulp now he won't be able to see it. You won't be able to cry out for help."

"If you att-" One of the other people replied.

"Who are you?" I asked cutting him off.

"Danny," The boy said, "And it might surprise you that Stiles has friends."

I laughed derisively at Danny. Though, I had to admit, he had balls to say that. I had threatened to beat Stiles up and Danny's response was curt and gave off an air of 'I'll beat the shit out of you'. I hated to acknowledge that Danny might be one of the most likeable people I had seen today.

"Yeah, and it might surprise Stiles that I have friends," I said and crossed my arms.

Stiles laughed and Lydia looked sternly at him. She let out one of those 'why do I like this person' sighs that I've heard people give others before. Why hang out with someone that you didn't like? What was the point?

If I didn't like someone I wasn't going to stay friends with them.

"Yeah, name one," Stiles finally replied.

"Derek," I said proudly.

"He's your case worker, he doesn't count."

"Why? Because he's my friend he doesn't count as my friend?"

"Come on, Stiles," Danny said and put a hand on his shoulder, "It's not worth it. He answered your question."

Stiles looked at me angrily as though he wanted to rip me limb from limb. That if Danny and Lydia weren't here that he would try - and then probably end up in the hospital for his troubles. I smiled as I thought of that scenario.

"You're right," Stiles replied bitterly, "He did."

"So, how many foster homes have you been to?" Lydia asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

"A bunch," I said with a shrug.

"And each one of them gave you up because you're a fu-" Stiles started.

"Stiles," Lydia said and he shut up, "But he is right, you do have an attitude problem."

"I'm the one with the attitude problem?" I asked, barely able to believe the shit she was saying, "He's the asshole calling me a 'delinquent'."

For a moment I thought Lydia was going to say something. She sure looked like she wanted to scream at me.

"It's not easy," Danny said, breaking the uneasy silence, "Moving from home to home. Feeling unwanted. Unloved. So you just strike out in hopes that you don't have to feel disappointment."

I wanted to yell at him that he was way wrong. That all people were assholes and that I was the only sane person on the planet. I wanted to rage all day long, but he was right. He was right.

So I just stood there looking angry at Danny, Stiles, and Lydia before I left to explore more of the land.


	6. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Derek talk over coffee.

"No sugar today?" Derek asked and I shook my head.

He drank his coffee as I grimaced when I sipped mine.

"Sure?" He asked again, this time seeming amused.

I shook my head again. The coffee was an adult thing, I knew. But it was _vile,_ and it slunk down the back of my throat in a strange, lukewarm heat I was not prepared for. I managed to keep it down, however, but only just. My mouth tasted bitter and I felt like a child sipping at their father’s wine. It was an adult thing, I told myself, for an adult. An adult like me. I could take care of myself the same way I could take care of this foul mixture they’d sold me.

"No biggy," I said, a strained smile painted my features, "I'm a big boy now.” We shared a laugh at that, a soft sound amidst the clatter of keyboards and gossip.

"You _do_ realize that not everyone drinks black coffee?” Derek questioned. When did this become an interrogation? “Heck, I know a guy who just hates coffee in general, and another who doesn't even like tea!"

I looked around at the small coffee shop, a local one and not a chain. There were still hipsters sitting around on laptops, though. I guess some things never changed. I sipped some more of my coffee as I decided what to talk about.

"How are you getting along with Stiles?" Derek asked, getting back to job mode.

I sighed. I had hoped we would avoid talking about the little bastard altogether. I had come for coffee with Derek because I wanted to get away from my 'brother'. I wanted to spend part of one day where I didn't see or hear about him.

"He's not a problem." I finally replied. "I just see him a few times in the morning and then that little fucker is out of my life until the next day."

"You should at least be trying to warm up to him." Derek said with a sigh. "You can't keep going from foster house to foster house."

"Why not? It's seeming to work for me just fine. More than fine, actually."

I was glad when it seemed to take him a few moments to come up with a reply. The pause felt like a minor victory.

"Because you need a childhood. You need to settle down, grow up, and then move out." Derek said. "I know you're hurting."

"Hurting?" I asked with a loud laugh, making the old couple behind me jump. "The only reason I'm hurting is because I keep on getting put with dumbass families."Derek just looked at me and I shivered. The only person I considered a friend also could be the creepiest bastard at times - sometimes it felt like he could see into the very depths of my being. He cared for me, but I didn't have to like it, at least outwardly.

"No, you're hurting because you're trying to keep yourself from being hurt." He replied. "If you only tried to fit in better you'd be happier. Maybe you'd find that you liked Stiles, or at least not want to beat him up every second you can find."

"I haven't beat him up." I said.

"Yet. I know you, Scott."

I distracted myself by looking up at the sky. There was a cloud appearing and I thought for a moment about how heavy the rain would be, trapping Stiles and I in the same house - well, unless he and his girlfriend decided to do something. I honestly didn't know what Lydia saw in the little bastard.

"I won't beat him up. Scott's honor." I said, raising my hand and putting my other hand over my heart.

"Scott's honor?" Derek asked and shook his head. "Well, just make sure he's still healthy when I check up on you again."

"If you worry so much about kids, why not get one of your own? Settle down with a wife and have a few. Stop bugging me." I paused for a moment. "And all the other poor souls you talk to."

Derek paused for a long time, and for the first time since meeting him, there was worry - fear - in the man’s eyes. An awkward silence spilled into the space between us, seconds drooped and warped, everything slowed. Derek fidgeted.

I thought, for a moment, that he simply wouldn't reply, that our whole meeting was now at an end, but another glance at Derek had me staying in my seat.

"You okay?" I finally asked. It wasn’t quite enough to break the sudden stillness, but it helped.

Derek let out a slow breath before his response was thrown from his mouth, almost to fast for me to catch, "I'm aromantic.” He stopped then, to find his words and his courage, “It..  It means I don't feel love, well, I mean... not the way a married couple does. Friendship, yes, but…” he drifted off, I waited a bit longer. People will say anything to fill a silence. Derek was no exception. “Are you alright with that?” he began again, tripping over his words in a way that felt more than rushed, “I know a lot of people aren’t."

"Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?" I replied, shocked that Derek would think I gave a fuck. I watched as his shoulders slowly began to relax with the air. "So you don't feel the sappy, chick-flick kind of love, it’s not like the world is ending! You're my friend, Derek, which means you're the only asshole I don't actually mind."

"Language," Derek replied, a confused smile spreading across his face as he properly relaxed, happy with my answer.

"Sure. So you at least thinking of having kids?"

"Yeah, I do like kids. I don't know why, but they make me happy."

"So are you going to find a surrogate mother?"

"No," Derek said, shaking his head. "I'm going to adopt. I wouldn’t mind having a kid of my own, but dealing with people like you...there are so many kids already without families. It wouldn’t feel right going through all that effort while knowing that some other kid is without a loving home."

"But I'm an asshole." I said, a little surprised that I was one of the people that was making him think of adopting.

"So you finally admit it?"

"Maybe."

Derek laughed and I joined him. Seeing him open up to me like that was surprising. I didn't care that he was aromantic, but the fact that I had such an effect on his life shocked me. I was used to thinking of myself as a stray that wasn't connected to anyone.

Moving around meant never being in anyone’s life for too long. Stiles would be annoyed with me, but by this time next year, I'd be an old story to him. Someone like Derek, though...it was strange.

"Can you please be a little kinder to Stiles?" Derek asked, almost pleading, "If I adopt I'll have a child to think about, on top of everything that’s _already_ going on. I won't always be there to help you when you need me. Stiles is your brother now, and you need to be able to depend on each other."

"So I should accept his half-assed attempt at ‘help’ instead of yours? Instead of someone who actually _can_ help me?" I demanded, he couldn’t be serious. It was bad enough that he was dangling the prospect of not being there for me over my head, but throwing Stiles in with it was just plain cruel. A long drawn out sigh escaped me as I sunk farther into my chair. The coffee, long since abandoned, sat between us. It was cold. I brought it to my lips anyway, if just to have something to do with my hands.

" _Language,_ Scott, please” he was beginning to get tired of this, I could tell, “And you don't know how much he doesn't know. Heck, you don’t know much about him at all! The only thing you know is that you don't like him." he sounded exasperated. I shifted in my seat.

"That's all I _need_ to know."

Derek shot me a look, "At least he’s better than your _other_ brother. Look, just -” he let out a grumbling noise, thinking, “- Just _try_ , Scott. For me?" I looked at him for a moment, not answering, but that was all he needed. Nodding he got up and began to shuffle himself into order. With that the conversation was over. I got up, we said our goodbyes, and it almost wasn’t awkward.

I would try  to treat Stiles better.


End file.
